


Snow Day

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexmas (The 100), Clexmas 2020, Clexmas20, Day 7, F/F, Snow Day, home for the holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28171005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Lexa Woods hates Clarke Griffin.  Or so she keeps telling herself.  When an outbreak of flu hits her elite European boarding school, canceling her planned holiday ski trip, she decides to come home for the holidays, even though it means being alone.  But on her first day home, a snowstorm hits, canceling school for the local kids... including her next door neighbor, Clarke.  Who has decided its time to build a snowman.  Or snowwoman.  Or snow... porcupine?!For Clexmas 2020 - Day 7: Home for the Holidays
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 50
Kudos: 315





	Snow Day

Lexa Woods hated Clarke Griffin.

Lexa Woods had always hated Clarke Griffin. 

Lexa Woods would always hate Clarke Griffin.

At least that's what she told herself.

Even though she knew it wasn't true.

Once upon a time, they'd been friends. Back when they were too young to hate anyone or anything (except maybe brussels sprouts). Back when Lexa's mother was still alive. Back before her father came home and started whispering poison in her ear about how she was _special_ and how she deserved more and better than, well, anyone. 

She hadn't understood then (and if she was being honest, she didn't understand now) what it was about her that made her so special that she couldn't live a normal life, like all of the kids she'd once played with. She didn't understand why they couldn't be her friends anymore. Why it seemed like her father didn't want her to have any friends at all. 

Most of the kids had moved on quickly – they had bikes to ride and balls to throw and trampolines to bounce on and pools to swim in, after all – but Clarke had kept trying. She would knock on the door and ask if Lexa could come out and play, and Lexa's father would glare down at her and tell her no, Lexa couldn't _play_ , as if that was something that ought to be beneath a girl of just-turned-eight. 

"Is she sick?" Clarke had asked one day, her voice carrying up through the darkened depths of the house, and Lexa didn't know if only turning lights on when you had no other choice was something you did when someone died, or if it was just one of her father's rules, but she huddled in the shadows at the top of the stairs, hoping her father might relent.

There was a slight quiver in Clarke's voice, and maybe her mother who was a doctor (but not Lexa's mom's doctor) had explained what it meant when you left your house in an ambulance and never came back, and maybe she thought that might happen to Lexa, too.

Lexa wished she could sprint down them and throw herself into Clarke's arms, which she imagined would feel safe and warm like her mother's had, even if Clarke wasn't even as big as Lexa. And maybe her arms would feel safe and warm to Clarke, too, and she would know she was alive and not sick and not going anywhere.

"No," her father said, and shut the door too hard and too loud in Clarke's face, and Lexa retreated to her room. 

Clarke didn't knock again after that, but she did start writing notes to Lexa, taping them to her window, and Lexa wrote back the same way, until her father caught on and moved her to a room across the house where she couldn't see Clarke and Clarke couldn't see her. And then when the summer was over, he'd packed her bags and put her on an airplane that took her not just across the country but across the ocean to a school full of other special girls, who she supposed she was allowed to be friends with, but she was so homesick she didn't really try.

By the time she got to come home again – for a few weeks for the holidays – even Clarke had moved on. Lexa watched from the window as she and a bunch of other kids in brightly-colored snowsuits built snowmen and snow forts, launching attacks on each other like they were sworn enemies, only to all troop inside together for hot chocolate and Christmas cookies when their fingers and toes got too cold. Clarke had looked up once and seen her watching, had waved and motioned for her to come down, but Lexa didn't have a snowsuit, or anything else suitable for playing in snow, so she'd stayed where she was, ducking out of sight any time Clarke happened to glance her way. 

Of course, that was all half a lifetime ago, and Lexa's resentment of the freedom Clarke had that she lacked had grown and festered over the years. She rarely came home anymore – there was ski trips with friends over the holidays, and camps and internships over the summer – and when she did, she was sure Clarke never spared her a glance, so Lexa refused to spare her so much as a thought, ever.

Except for all the thoughts that sprang into her head unbidden, when she was alone and lonely... She'd tried to squash them, tried to shove them down and bury them deep, but ever since that summer a few years ago when she'd come home feeling gangly and awkward and discovered that Clarke had grown too, in ways that made Lexa's cheeks and belly burn, well...

Lexa stared out the window, watching the snowflakes drift down from the sky, piling up rapidly and blanketing the whole world in white. She was glad she'd gotten a flight that landed before the storm hit; the last thing she needed was to have to try to make changes to the flight she wasn't supposed to have booked in the first place. But there had been an outbreak of the flu that swept through her school just before the winter recess, and it had hit several of her friends hard, resulting in the cancellation of the ski trip they'd been planning. 

Which she should have told her father, who she knew was going to be away on business for the holidays. She should have found somewhere else to go, some other friend or at least acquaintance whose Christmas she could crash. Instead, she'd booked a flight home. 

A flash of color caught her eye, and she leaned closer to the window for a better look... only to find herself snared in the bright blue gaze of Clarke Griffin, whose scarf was almost the same shade as her eyes. 

Lexa ducked as quickly as she could, the bowl she'd been washing clutched to her chest and soaking through the oversized t-shirt her father would die if he knew she was wearing... especially without a bra underneath. He had very specific ideas about what was and wasn't appropriate for a young woman to wear, even when there was no one else around to see. 

She stayed huddled by the cabinets for five minutes, or ten, or an hour. She wasn't sure, because time seemed to stand still. When she finally dared to stand up and glance out the window again, Clarke was gone.

And then there was a knock on the door. 

Lexa crept down the hall, trying to stay out of sight of the window that ran along one side of the door. 

"Lexa, I know you're in there!" Clarke called. 

Lexa's heart stuttered in her chest, and she realized she was _still_ holding that damn bowl. She thought about going back to the kitchen, or going upstairs, or—

" _Do you want to build a snowman?_ " 

_She didn't,_ Lexa thought. _She isn't—_

" _It doesn't have to be a snowman._ "

She did. She was.

" _It could be a snowwoman, or a snow... porcupine, or—_ "

Lexa choked on a laugh. Clarke was making up her own tune now, the words warbling all over the place, and it was clear she wasn't planning to go away any time soon. 

So Lexa opened the door. "Snow _porcupine_?"

"Because you're so prickly," Clarke said. 

"I'm not _prickly_ ," Lexa said, her almost-smile sinking back into a frown. "You don't even know me."

"Not anymore," Clarke said, and there was something in her eyes, in the way her smile faltered just a fraction... "So come out and prove me wrong." 

"Shouldn't you be in school?" Lexa asked, trying to derail her even though she wasn't sure why.

"Shouldn't you?" Clarke countered.

"Winter break," Lexa said. 

"Snow day," Clarke answered. "Winter break already?"

Lexa shrugged. "Ours is longer. With so many of the students being international, it doesn't make sense for them to have to go all the way home just to come back a week or two later, so we get a month for the holidays." 

"Lucky you," Clarke said. "So if you've got all this time on your hands, come out and play." Her lips tugged up at the corners, and it was hard not to stare at them, and harder still to meet her eyes, which sparkled with mischief.

"I can't," Lexa said. "I—"

"Your father's not here," Clarke said. "He won't be back until after New Year's."

"How do you—" Lexa started to ask, but decided it didn't matter. 

Clarke shrugged. "He asked my parents to make sure that the sidewalk and driveway got cleared if it snowed. He hired someone, but—"

"But he doesn't trust anyone to do their job," Lexa said. "'If you want it done right, you have to do it yourself.'" She looked past Clarke to the snow, which was coming down even harder than before, and shook her head. "I don't have... anything."

"Then we'll find you something," Clarke said. "Come on. We've got a ton of—"

"No," Lexa said. "If you want someone to play with, call your friends." She started to shut the door, but Clarke's booted foot blocked it. 

"You _are_ my friend," Clarke said, "or you were, before you decided—"

" _I_ didn't decide anything!" Lexa snapped. "My father decided everything for me! You think I got a choice about—"

"You have a choice now," Clarke said. "Come on. Come outside." She looked Lexa up and down. "Actually, go get dressed in whatever you have that's warm, and I'll go find some boots and stuff that should fit you. I'll be right back." She turned and retreated down the porch stairs at as fast a clip as she could manage, which given the fact that the snow was closing in on knee-deep, wasn't particularly fast.

Lexa closed the door, leaning against it. She could just go hide in her room, let Clarke pound on the door until she finally lost interest and gave up... or she could go outside and build a snowman. Or snowwoman. Or snow porcupine. 

She dumped the bowl in the dish drainer and went upstairs. 

Clarke came back with her arms full of snow gear, and after a little bit of trial and error, they had Lexa kitted out so she wouldn't immediately turn into an icicle when she came in contact with the outside world. A jolt went down Lexa's spine when Clarke grabbed her elbow as they slip-slid down the walk and up Clarke's half-cleared driveway, settling like a burning coal in her core. 

"Let's start over here," Clarke said, and Lexa didn't want to admit she'd never built a snowman in her life, but Clarke obviously had built plenty and was more than happy to show her. Soon they had three balls stacked on top of each other, and plenty of snow to spare, so they built a second one right next to it, and Lexa didn't arrange their arms to make it look like they were holding hands on purpose, exactly... 

But Clarke just smiled and put hats on their heads and scarves around their necks, and pulled out her phone to take a picture when they were done. 

Lexa started rolling another ball, parking it in front of them and then building up snow around it, not sure if she could actually make it look right, but she had to try, because she liked seeing Clarke smile maybe a little too much, and—

"Are you really making a snow porcupine?" Clarke asked. 

"It was your idea," Lexa said. "Although it's probably more of a snow hedgehog, because I don't really know what porcupines look like." 

Clarke smiled. No, she _grinned_ , and Lexa found herself smiling back, and she smiled plenty when she was at school, but this felt different somehow. Bigger, brighter. More real, more genuine... just _more_. 

"Be right back," Clarke said. "I have an idea."

She went inside, dragging who knew how much snow in with her, and Lexa's father would have killed her if she'd ever done anything like that, and maybe Clarke's parents would want to, but instead of yelling they would probably just hand her a mop and tell her to clean it up. Because Lexa had never seen them get mad at Clarke, not really. Frustrated, yes. Annoyed, sure. But not angry. 

She took a few pieces of charcoal from the stash Clarke had dug out of the garage and used it to make the snow porcupine/hedgehog's eyes and nose, and made little snowballs to be its ears. She was trying figure out how to make quills out of snow when Clarke came back out, brandishing a double fistful of... 

" _Chopsticks?_ " Lexa started to laugh. 

"They're perfect!" Clarke said. "Here." She handed some to Lexa, and they began to stick them all over the snow creature to give it its characteristic prickly appearance. When they finished, Clarke got out her phone again, taking pictures of Horatio (as she'd named him) by himself, and then of Lexa with their snow creations, and then a few shots of the two of them together, their faces pressed close so they fit in the frame. 

"What next?" Clarke asked. "We've still got the whole back yard." She grinned again, and Lexa found herself smiling in response, and racing her to the back of the house, where they set up camp on either side of yard and began to build forts as fast as they could while dodging the occasional volley of snowballs from the enemy camp. 

After a while, the cold started to seep through, and Lexa decided it was time to settle this once and for all. As she crept out from behind her protective wall, she loaded her arms with snowballs. A few seconds later, though, she discovered Clarke had had the same thought, and she found herself under assault. She dropped her load of ammunition and charged, trying to dodge the snowy barrage, losing track of where she was until she crashed into – and through – Clarke's fort...

... and landed right on top of her.

Clarke laughed, trying to shove Lexa off, but they were both buried in snow and it was hard to move and then she just... stopped trying. Her hands still gripped Lexa's shoulders, and her legs were splayed with Lexa between them, one knee up but no longer thrusting her hips to try and dislodge her. 

Their breath formed clouds just past their lips, meeting and mingling, and Clarke's smile faded as she stared up at Lexa, like she was waiting for her to do... something. 

And all of those late night lonely feelings were back, flooding Lexa with heat, and she knew she should move, that she should pull away and laugh it off, but she'd imagined this moment so many times (and she'd never understood why it was always Clarke who sprang to mind when her body ached with desire and her skin felt too tight to contain her) and now she had a chance, and she might not get another.

For a second, Clarke was absolutely, utterly still as Lexa's lips met hers, and Lexa wondered if her mouth had grown so cold she couldn't feel it. But just as she was about to pull away, to make some excuse, to run and hide and never come out, Clarke's fingers tightened just a little, bringing her a fraction closer, and her lips moved against Lexa's, kissing her back. 

Lexa had kissed plenty of other girls before. Girls who were 'just fooling around' and girls who were ' _sooo_ drunk last night' and girls who were still figuring things out and a few who meant it just as much as Lexa did, but all of them – every single one – paled in comparison to this kiss.

She finally pulled away, the tip of her nose brushing against Clarke's, only to have Clarke lift her head to claim her mouth again. The chill of the air around them contrasted with the burning in Lexa's core, and she found herself moving against Clarke in ways that would have been far more embarrassing (and far more effective) if there weren't so many layers between them. But Clarke's body moved with hers, and she was the one who finally gasped into Lexa's ear as she nuzzled her frozen nose into the warm folds of Clarke's scarf, seeking the tender skin beneath, "Inside." 

They left their snow-soaked and crusted clothes in the mudroom in a heap that they would have to deal with later, and Clarke laced her fingers through Lexa's, pulling her deeper into the house, kissing her in every room they passed on the way to the stairs, and several times as they ascended. 

When they reached Clarke's room – where Lexa had never been, even back when they were little and still allowed to be friends – Clarke closed and locked the door behind them, even though there was no one else home. Her mom was at the hospital and her dad stuck in another city where he's been on a business trip, waiting out the storm in a hotel room he didn't have the pay for, or so Clarke had said. 

Lexa made a sound she'd never heard come from her own lips as Clarke's chilly-but-steadily-warming as their kisses grew more heated hands slid up under her shirt, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, which turned into a full-on moan as Clarke discovered she'd never bothered putting on a bra. 

The backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she sat, and Clarke straddled her thighs, then pushed her back further so she could get her knees on the bed. Clarke hooked the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and off in a fluid motion, then took Lexa's hands, kissing each of her fingertips and then her palms before placing them on her breasts. 

"Clarke..." she breathed, staring up at her in awe. 

Clarke smiled. "Lexa," she answered, and leaned down to kiss her. 

For a fleeting moment as their pants came off, Lexa thought maybe this was all happening too quickly, that maybe they should slow down and really think this through... but then Clarke gasped when Lexa's fingers just barely brushed between her legs, and she knew there was no way she was turning back now. She would worry about what came after... after. 

But before there could be an after, there was a now, and that now felt infinite as she worked her fingers into Clarke's slick, tender folds, pressing and stroking and circling, easing her open and entering her with one finger, then two as Clarke's knees splayed and she groaned, " _More_..."

Lexa could feel it as Clarke tensed, rising and rising... and rising until neither of them could stand it any longer, and Lexa was about to stop and try something else when she shuddered and groaned and went lax under Lexa's touch. 

"God... _Lexa_..." she groaned, and pulled her close and kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. 

Lexa jerked when Clarke's fingertip found her clit, her back arching as a sharp jolt of pleasure ran through her, and then another before it settled into something less sharp and more steady. She pressed up into Clarke's touch, seeking more pressure, because when you had shared a room with at least one other girl for most of your life, these sorts of things had to be taken care of quickly if you didn't want to get caught. Not that she'd ever been touched there by anyone but herself; she'd always balked before clothes started coming off, and she wasn't sure what was different this time, but... 

But Clarke shook her head slightly, brushing her lips along her jaw. "Relax," she whispered. "I've got you."

And she did. She got Lexa in ways Lexa had never imagined anyone ever would or could. 

Tears beaded in Lexa's lashes when she finally reached climax what felt like an eternity later, and stars sparkled at the edges of her vision as she forced her eyes open to look at Clarke's face. 

"You should stay here for the holidays," Clarke said. "You shouldn't be alone."

"Your parents—"

"Wouldn't want you to be alone, either," Clarke assured her. "Please?"

Lexa hesitated, but then Clarke's lips brushed hers, and she knew there was only one answer. "Okay," she said. "If you insist."

* * *

Later, when the snow had stopped, or at least slowed, and the roads had been cleared so Clarke's parents could finally return home from work, they took a fourth plate from the cabinet without question. 

"Good thing I ordered extra," Clarke's mom said, smiling at her as she set out a dizzying array of Chinese food containers. "I assumed you would be staying at school, with your father away." 

"Last minute change of plans," Lexa said, which was true. 

"Is he coming home early, then?" Dr. Griffin asked. 

Lexa shook her head. "But he knows I can take care of myself." Which was also more-or-less true... maybe tending a little more toward the less side. But what her father didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and by the time he got home...

"I'm sure you can," Dr. Griffin said. "Even so, I would be more comfortable if you stayed here until he gets back." She didn't even look at Lexa as she said it, just announced it like it was already a done deal. 

Clarke nudged her, and when Lexa glanced at her, she mouthed, 'Told you so.'

"They forgot the chopsticks," Clarke's father said. 

"Just use a fork, Dad," Clarke said. "More food will actually get in your mouth that way."

Mr. Griffin made a face at her, and Clarke grinned. "It's fine," he said. "We have plenty of extras."

"Um... not so much anymore," Clarke said. She pulled her phone out her pocket and showed him the pictures from earlier. 

For a second, Lexa's entire body tensed, bracing from the explosion... but Mr. Griffin only laughed. "Is that a... porcupine?"

"More of a hedgehog," Lexa said. 

"Well it's the finest snow-hedgehog I've ever seen," Mr. Griffin said. "You girls should be proud." 

When both of her parents' backs were turned, Clarke wrapped her fingers around Lexa's and gave a quick squeeze. Lexa squeezed back. She had never been so happy to be home for the holidays... because for the first time in a very long time, she felt like she actually was.


End file.
